


Dark Days

by BelovedFool



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Banter, Canon Compliant, Crowley is reflecting on how things suck, I don't know what to tag this as, Just read the fic and fill in the blanks I guess, M/M, Meta...maybe??, Michael is bitter, Other, Reluctant Therapy, Sort Of, The Plot of Supernatural is Stupid, They're both bastards, season 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedFool/pseuds/BelovedFool
Summary: With the increasingly convoluted way things have been going lately, Crowley feels as though he's lost the very thing that makes him Crowley--mainly, how much of a threat he is to those very things in general. The only reminder of the frightening status he once had is a single forgotten archangel, still stuck in the bottom of Hell after the first Almost-Apocalypse. Driven by desperation to take up the game of taunting Heaven again, Crowley ventures down to prove that he's still better off than Michael. And then, he can't seem to stop.





	1. The Whole World Feels Like Monday Morning

   Crowley was tired. Everything from the goings-on of Hell to the antics of the human world, and even everything between, seemed so tedious now. It had taken the fun out of being the King of Hell, which Crowley had never thought was possible. Not so long ago, Lucifer had escaped, but Crowley did not feel the urgency he should have in trying to hunt him down and get him back in the Cage. Even helping the Winchester boys in trying to hunt down the elusive devil had felt like dragging his feet through quicksand. Nothing was exciting or stimulating anymore, and nothing made sense. Crowley missed the old days.

     The old days, he reminisced, were ones where if he was feeling particularly smug, he might go down to the Cage and gloat to Lucifer, and later Michael. It was in those days when Crowley had thought that maybe he could eventually get all four archangels in the Cage at once, and that would make him the most powerful demon of all time. He would go down in history, and maybe even be King of Hell forever. That dream was hopeless now: Gabriel was dead, Raphael had disappeared from the faces of the cosmos, and Lucifer was—he hated to even think the ridiculous string of words—impersonating the president of the United States.

     At least he still had Michael. It was little comfort, though; the Sword of Heaven had given up fighting, and even when rare instances of resistance overcame him, Crowley found it rather boring. Compared to the shit he and the Winchesters had had to deal with lately, Michael did not seem so formidable anymore.

     Taunting an angel, no matter how underwhelming, was preferable to moping alone in his office. Maybe, if he ignored things strongly enough, Crowley could pretend he _was_ still in the good old days and get some of his old spark back. If that didn’t do it, Crowley was unsure what else to do. The state the world was in had dulled his desire for chaos and troublemaking, and his abilities had suffered for it. Maybe that was what had happened to Michael, too. Crowley hated to think that he was now just as underwhelming as the defeated archangel, but he was unable to shake the thought from his head as he went down to the very depths of Hell to visit the Cage.

     He found Michael, as always, sitting cross-legged in the centre of the Cage, still as a statue, staring outwards at nothing. He wondered if the angel went into some kind of meditative state or if he let every second tick painfully by him in some sort of twisted self-punishment. He stood by the railing and looked out at the suspended Cage, wondering if it was worth addressing the angel at all. He was at the end of his rope, though, and desperately needed something to fix his essence.

     “Michael,” he called without raising his voice. The angel was unresponsive, but Crowley knew he had heard. He forced some cheer into his voice. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in hearing the latest shit Lucifer’s been up to?”

     Michael blinked John Winchester’s green eyes, and Crowley wondered if there was a timeline somewhere that was utterly ruined by having one of its key players removed. “Not particularly,” he said.

     “Me neither,” said Crowley, “but I have to hear about it every goddamned day, so you’re going to suffer too.”

     This got Michael to look at Crowley and a bit of energy seemed to return to him, changing his eyes to angel-Grace blue. “Don’t I suffer enough?” he asked sharply.

     “Not remotely,” Crowley answered. “I’d rather be down there plotting my escape to a world I think is worth escaping to than trying to live in one that’s already gone to shit.”

     Michael took the bait, although Crowley knew he wasn’t fooled for a moment. “What have you done to the world now?”

     “For once, nothing.” Crowley sighed. “Actually, nothing for a very long time.” He remembered he was supposed to be trying to lift himself up, not wallow in his own despair. “But hey, at least I’ve got room to pace.”

     “Pacing is a waste of energy,” said Michael.

     “What do you need energy for?”

     Michael glared at him, but obviously found no suitable argument. “Pacing is a human trifle,” he amended.

     “You know,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “You’re awfully boring.”

     “I’m not here for your entertainment,” said Michael.

     “Ah, but that’s just the thing!” Crowley gave a bitter laugh. “You used to be! I used to have such fun coming down here and pitting you and Lucifer against the walls of the Cage or each other, and I used to be the only machine you could ever bear raging against. Now look at us. We’re like old men, you and I.”

     “I’m no man,” said Michael, insulted.

     “Yeah, yeah, celestial being,” said Crowley. “Doesn’t change the fact you act like an old man.”

     Michael’s usually impassive face contorted into a glare. “How dare you.”

     Crowley snorted. “What’re you gonna do? Smite me?” He had been right: this was making him feel a little better.

     “I will eventually. We both know it.”

     Crowley sighed. “Yeah.”

     Both were silent for some time, and then, to Crowley’s surprise, Michael spoke up. “Did you come down here for any other reason than to gossip about my brother?”

     “Of course I did. I came to taunt you.”

     “That’s unfavourable. Tell me about Lucifer.”

     Crowley chucked. “What, you think you get to pick whether I taunt you or not?” He acquiesced anyways. “He’s just come off a rock and roll tour and is currently living in the White House.”

     Michael turned away, disgusted. “I should have known you weren’t being serious.”

     “I wish I wasn’t,” said Crowley, dryly.

     “That’s ridiculous.”

     “Yes.”

     Again, silence. “Perhaps you _are_ suffering more than I am.”

     “And you know the worst part?” Crowley chuckled. “It’s that mocking you is the only thing that’s made me feel awake in months.”

     “Demons don’t sleep,” Michael pointed out.

     “We can. But that’s exactly the point, isn’t it?”

     Michael turned again and seemed to look right through Crowley. “You deserve to suffer,” he said with finality.

     “Thanks,” said Crowley, sarcastically. “You do realize that demons don’t get to be demons _without_ suffering, right?”

     “I’m not particularly interested in how your spawning works.”

     Crowley gave him an incredulous look. “How the here are you supposed to fight hosts of us if you don’t even know where we come from? Whatever happened to wartime espionage?”

     Michael gave a cold half-smile. “I don’t need it. Even one angel is so much more powerful than a legion of demons that we have no need to learn your ways. And I have hosts under my command.”

     “Had,” Crowley reminded him. “You’d be surprised: we demons have really come into our own lately. We could really give angels a run for their money. We have, actually,” he added hastily.

     Michael chose to ignore most of that. “ _Have_ ,” he repeated. “They remain loyal to me.”

     “Well, that’s not what the Winchesters say.”

     “The Winchesters are insects. What they think they know means nothing.”

     Crowley wasn’t so sure about that. After all, the Winchesters were taking down bigger fish now that he had ever thought capable. Speaking of which: “Did you know you’ve got an aunt?”

     “Excuse me?”

     “Her name’s Amara. Or it was, anyways. She tried to bone Dean and blow up the world, and then died.”

     Michael looked faintly offended and faintly horrified. “Why must you spin such disgusting lies?”

     “I’m just letting you know what you’ve missed, so you know what you’re going back to when you inevitably break out.”

     “My Father has no peers,” said Michael.

     “Not anymore.”

     “I don’t believe you.”

     “I know.” With Michael unwilling to respond to that, Crowley continued. “Are you up for a bet?”

     “Not particularly.”

     “If I’m right,” said Crowley, ignoring him, “and God’s sister almost became an honorary Winchester, and Lucifer’s _inside_ the president, and all the angels have conveniently forgotten you exist, you don’t kill me when you get out of there.”

     “Fine,” said Michael.

     Crowley blinked. “What now?”

     “You’re trying to preserve your hide for long enough to escape while I verify the truth or falsehood of your tales. You think that even the minute it would take me to traverse the earth is enough to activate some sort of escape plan, but you’re wrong. As soon as I am free from the confines of this cage, I will know all that’s ever happened in the universe. It will take less than a second, and then I will have you writhing in holy fire.”

     “Huh.” That was the Michael Crowley had known before, in the glory days he was trying to relive. “Alright, but if I’m not lying— _and I’m not_ —then you leave me alone for the rest of eternity, yeah?”

     “It doesn’t matter how high you make the stakes if they will never come into fruition.” Michael sounded frustrated now.

     “Oh?” Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Alright. How about you convert to Hell’s side if I’m right, then.”

     “Don’t be ridiculous.”

     “Why? Are you afraid it might come to pass?”

     “No. But no self-respecting angel would agree to those terms. If such events as you say have happened, then you’ll be spared. And even that is lenient.”

     Crowley grinned. “Fantastic.”

 

     Crowley did not get a chance to return to the Cage until a week later, but when he did it was not empty-handed. “Here,” he said, tossing a bundle in the Cage’s general direction. He wondered if it would burn up on impact, but it sailed through and landed somewhere off to the angel’s left.

     “What?” Michael asked.

     “It’s not exactly easy to gather evidence on supernatural goings-on from human newspapers, but that’s the best I could do.”

     Michael sighed impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. They could be forged. Besides, I’ll know for certain when I get out, so what’s the point of trying to prove it now.”

     “I’m so glad you asked,” said Crowley with a wicked smile. “It’s so that your escape, your one hope and the thing that’s kept you ticking all these years, becomes something you dread.”

     “My escape will be glorious whether I can smite you or not,” Michael argued.

     “Sure, but not as glorious as it _should_ be, right? And that’s going to bother you, since you’re such a proud bastard.”

     “Pride is a sin,” said Michael. “I take no part in it.”

     Crowley scoffed. “And you’re a lying bastard too, apparently.”

     Michael actually stood and approached the edge of the Cage. “Pride is fatal. It is when humans take undeserved credit for things that they delude themselves into believing they are. I am not deluded; I know I am absolute.”

     “Absolutely bonkers,” Crowley agreed. “Pride’s just thinking you’re hot shit. Sure, you can use it to tempt a human or two here and there, but if you’re not proud, you’re humble. And you, Michael, are not.”

     Michael frowned. “Of course I am. I recognize that I have limits, and that I cannot hope to approach my Father in power. I am ever at his service. I only hope to do my best by him.”

     Crowley looked skeptical. “I think the definitions of words might have changed since you last read scripture,” he said mildly.

     His apparent dismissal only enraged Michael further. “You have no right to an opinion on celestial matters.”

     “Oh? I thought sins were infernal matters. Does this mean Heaven has room for them?”

     Michael snarled, and for an instant Crowley saw his wings extend to the edges of the Cage.

     “Down, boy,” said Crowley.

     “Get out of my sight,” said Michael. “Or I promise, you will wish I had smote you.”

     Crowley raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Give those a read,” he said, gesturing at the papers. “They might make you doubt yourself just enough.” As he left the lower levels, he cursed himself for having inadvertently followed the orders that Michael had no purchase to give.


	2. Tuesday's Child

     “Guess what?”

     Michael opened his eyes with a sigh. “What, Crowley?”

     “That’s ‘Your Highness,’ to you,” Crowley corrected.

     Michael turned to glare at him. “What, Crowley?” he repeated pointedly.

     Crowley chuckled. “Fair enough. Lucifer knocked a bitch up.”

     “Excuse me?”

     “Ah.” Crowley leaned his hands on the railing. “You see, when a celestial being and a woman get very horny, and the woman thinks the celestial being is a man…”

     “Shut up!” said Michael, eyes flaring. “Lucifer can’t…this is bad.”

     “No shit,” Crowley snorted. “I thought you were supposed to be cosmically wise.”

     Michael stood, approaching the edge of the Cage. “I don’t think you appreciate the severity of this situation.”

     “Oh, I do,” said Crowley. “Some kind of antichrist situation. It’s just another thing to tack onto the list of growing tedium.”

     “Nephilim, actually,” said Michael, ruffling his wings. “Lucifer may be fallen, but he’s still an angel. But a Nephilim born of an angel of such power, and one so twisted as Lucifer…” he shook his head. “The world is in danger.”

     “The world’s always in danger,” said Crowley. “It’ll be fine. Your absentee father has a soft spot for the Winchester boys and apparently hates his children, so nothing bad will happen. It never does. I don’t know why we bother panicking anymore.”

     Michael stared at him as though he had grown a second head. “You’re insane.”

     “Nah. You’d say the same if you’d been out there.”

     Michael scowled at him.

     “Do you think,” Crowley asked speculatively, “that God will hate this kid double, or squared? I’m not really sure how numbers work with grandchildren.”

     “How do you propose to stop this?” Michael asked.

     “Same way I always do,” said Crowley cheerfully. “Grudgingly agree to help the Winchesters, pull some sort of magic device or spell out of my arse, pretend to betray them, show up at the last minute with a surprise attack that the big bad really should have seen coming, and let the boys have their _deus ex machina_ moment.”

     Michael visibly clenched his jaw. “Your flippancy is irritating at the best of times. This is anything but.”

     Crowley thought about this for a moment. “You know, I wish I could attach a nanny cam to my jacket or something, just so you could see that you’re overreacting to this whole mess.”

     “No one is forcing you to keep me locked up,” Michael pointed out.

     “Come on, mate; I’m not a bloody idiot,” Crowley said dryly.

     “That isn’t the impression I’ve gotten.” Michael began to look away, but quickly returned his gaze, doubly sharp now. “And I’m not your ‘mate.’”

     “Are you really going to argue semantics with me?”

     “According to you, there’s nothing else either of us should be doing right now,” Michael snapped.

     “Well, to be fair, there’s nothing else for you to be doing, ever,” Crowley pointed out.

     “I’m growing tired of your gloating.”

     “I’m not.”

     Michael had seemed to gain control over his face, but another slight ruffle of his wings gave away his irritation. “Do you know where the woman is now?”

     “No,” said Crowley. “But we know who she is and where she was last seen, so all we have to do is track her down.”

     Michael nodded. “This doesn’t have to end in disaster. If the woman is human, she can easily be taken out of the equation.”

     “Yeah, obviously,” said Crowley. “But the thing is, I know the boys aren’t going to be up for killing a random human, so I can’t lead with that plan.”

     “Fools. That is the surest way to avert all of this danger.”

     “Yeah, well, they’ve got souls.”

     Crowley snorted. “You say that like you haven’t got one.”

     “I don’t!” Michael retorted. “An angel’s Grace is everything that a human’s soul is not. Strong where the soul is weak. Steadfast where the soul is fallible.”

     “I dunno, that just sounds like _extra_ soul to me.”

     “Of course a demon wouldn’t understand,” said Michael bitterly.

     “You know, both the boys lost their souls for a bit,” Crowley informed Michael.

     Michael nodded. “I remember Sam’s being here. Dean, though?”

     “He became a demon for a while,” said Crowley.

     Michael sighed.

     “I know,” said Crowley, with a semblance of comforting the angel. “Just when you think it can’t get any more stupid. Look on the bright side, lad. At least it might all be over soon.”

     “Whatever this Nephilim does,” said Michael, “it won’t kill me. It will kill all that is human, and all my father has worked to build. I and the other angels will be left floating among the ruins.”

     Crowley had many things he thought he could say to that. He decided to say them all. “Archangels can die, as far as I know, so it could kill you. Your father doesn’t seem to give a shit about his creation anymore. It’d blow for you if it didn’t destroy the Cage, either; just you floating around endlessly in a few square feet of space.”

     “Enough!” Michael shouted through gritted teeth. A bright light flared as his wingtips hit the sides of the Cage, and the blue glow that appeared in his eyes did not die down. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I have had it with you, demon. Cross me again and see that our deal is revoked!”

     Crowley regarded Michael speculatively. He wondered if he could hook a generator up to the Cage and use Michael’s anger to power Hell. With all the other ridiculous things going on, he wouldn’t doubt it. “Noted,” he said simply.

     Michael let out a breath and folded his wings again, though his eyes remained alight. “This should have been a day to celebrate.”

     “What?”

     “A Nephilim born of an archangel. It should be a great bridge between humans and angels. That’s why my father allowed it to be possible. He thought if there was a being who understood the struggles of humans but could commune with angels, maybe he could care for them better…” He shook his head sadly. “But Lucifer has taken that and twisted it to be sick, as he does with everything else.”

     “You’re supposed to kill him, right?” Crowley asked.

     “I was. Now…I don’t know. I haven’t received any guidance from my Father in so long, but he allowed the Apocalypse to be stopped. It stands to reason he decided it shouldn’t happen at all.” Michael froze, lips slightly parted, and glared up at Crowley. “You bastard.”

     “What the Hell did I do now?” Crowley asked, offended.

     “You coerced me into revealing myself to you,” Michael accused, “seeking to sow doubt in Heaven.”

     “Mate, you started talking all on your own,” Crowley retorted, and then after a slight pause: “Do you doubt Heaven?”

     “Of course I do,” Michael spat. “There’s no point in lying now—you’ve seen it anyways. How could I not, after all that’s happened?”

     “It’s alright,” said Crowley, sincere for once. “I doubt Hell too. After a while, you start to wonder what the point is. It’s rather all like the world’s outgrown the need for us. Like we’re just sort of a formality at this point.”

     Michael regarded the demon suspiciously. “Why are you telling me this?”

     “Can’t talk to anyone else about it,” said Crowley. “They’d depose me in an instant. And it’s not like you can tell anyone.”

     Michael was quiet for some time, simply staring at Crowley. The Gracelight in his eyes had gradually dimmed, but they remained blue and gleaming. “I understand,” he said, and chuckled bitterly. “Confess.”

     “Bollocks,” said Crowley. That was what he was doing, of a sort. It was a humbling moment. “Been a while since I’ve been to church, but I’m fairly certain the priest isn’t supposed to confess back at you.”

     “No. But confession is meant to lead to forgiveness, and there’s none of that for you.” Even Michael’s threats sounded tired now, like after his outburst he had also realized the futility of the whole thing.

     “Good.” Crowley kept it up anyways. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I was suddenly forgiven. I’ve worked hard on all my sins, you know.”

     Michael gave Crowley a disgusted look. “No. They come naturally to you.”

     Crowley laughed. “I suppose they do.”

     Both were silent for some time. Michael’s hands had curled into fists, and Crowley tapped his fingers on the railing.

     “Well, what now, then?” Crowley asked.

     “Now you leave me in peace,” said Michael.

     “S’pose I could do that,” Crowley agreed. Michael had run out of entertainment value for the day. “I’ll let you know when the baby’s born.”

     “I’d rather not know.”

     “Don’t worry,” said Crowley, “I’m sure you’ll make a fine uncle.” He gave Michael a little wave and turned on his heel to leave. No remark followed him; Crowley had gotten the last word. That was unusual in itself, and Crowley wondered if after years of him tormenting the angel, this dullness had been the thing that had finally broken him. That was another humbling moment. Crowley did not like the frequency with which those were occurring and had a feeling things would only get worse as the charade went on.

 

    


End file.
